


Alone/Not Alone

by 1treehill



Category: Mindhunter (TV 2017)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Drug Use, Gen, References to Depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-01-23 13:42:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18550942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1treehill/pseuds/1treehill
Summary: In the aftermath of his nervous breakdown, Holden Ford tries to deal with some darkness.





	Alone/Not Alone

Holden Ford returned home from the hospital two days after his nervous breakdown, with a bottle containing 15 ten-milligram Xanax pills and orders from the doctor to seek out a psychiatrist, eat regularly and get some sleep. At the time, Holden had simply nodded his head in agreement, wondering silently how the overworked internist expected him to follow his orders. Holden hadn’t been able to sleep more than two, three hours a night for the past two months. As for eating, he had absolutely no appetite.

Holden felt relief that he had two weeks of leave in which to try to get back to normal. Bill and Wendy had visited him the first day of his hospitalization, which was kind, but he didn’t expect anything more from either of them. As for Debbie, that relationship was done. He hadn’t bothered to call and let her know about his nervous collapse, deciding she would either not care or be annoyed by his frailty. Neither had he let his parents know what happened. They had made it clear too many times that any problems he had were his own. Plus he didn’t want to give them more reasons to think there was something wrong with him.

So, he was alone. Alone and confused and exhausted. He’d never experienced a panic attack before and despite the doctor’s explanation that it was due to overwork and stress and, not explicitly stated, but certainly implied, doing something really, really stupid like visiting Edmund Kemper, murderer, necrophile and psychopath, alone, with no guards, he didn’t understand exactly what happened.

To be honest, Holden couldn’t even remember why he bought the plane ticket to Sacramento in the first place. His life became a series of strange experiences— the OPR hearing, Debbie breaking up with him, Bill removing his friendship from Holden’s life— and buying that ticket seemed pretty normal. Visiting someone he knew who was in the hospital after a suicide attempt seemed natural. Everything was falling apart on him, and so why not visit a gigantic killer as if he were a sick family member?

What had Holden wanted from Kemper? Was it a sense of sympathy? Or maybe he just wanted what Kemper did best. Perhaps he just wanted everything to end.

Holden quickly put that thought out of his mind, as he felt a thrill of horror and panic move through his body. His vision blurred and he absently raised his hand to his face and realized he was crying. Weeping like a child, alone in his sparsely furnished apartment. He quickly got up to wash his face in the bathroom sink, embarrassed by his own banality and sentimentality.

He didn’t deserve any comfort after the way he’d behaved in the past month or so. And yet, he reached for the full bottle of Jack Daniels and poured himself a more than generous amount into a large tumbler. He closed his eyes and slammed back the entire glass worth, wincing, his eyes watering badly.

After a few minutes, he could feel the alcohol’s effect and began to relax. He hadn’t eaten anything since leaving the hospital, so the empty stomach helped speed the process. Oh, this was better. His limbs felt heavier and his mind went near empty. He poured more into the glass and downed it in one again.

Holden was soon past drunk. He giggled out loud in relief, then stumbled to bed, not bothering to undress or brush his teeth. There was no one to notice his lack of sticking to habits. And no work tomorrow, so he could sleep in until his hangover allowed him to wake up without a headache.

Holden spent the next five days in the same way— watching TV without paying attention, drinking enough to numb himself, force-feeding himself, then pouring two large tumblers full of booze down his throat so he could sleep.

Nightmares eluded the alcohol’s grasp though, and slithered into his mind every night. Large hands attached to beefy, strong arms wrapped around his body. A voice reminding him that he was to blame for his own demise. Running down a forever hallway, never really escaping the danger. Falling, crawling, not being able to breathe.

Holden woke multiple times each night, sweating, crying, shivering. A few times he reached his hand out to the phone by his bedside, one time even picking up the receiver to call Debbie or Bill. But reality would intrude on his pressing need for comfort and he would wrap his arms around his body and hug himself until the crying stopped.

A week passed, and Holden realized he wasn’t getting any better. If anything, he’d lost more weight and the dark circles under his eyes were deepening. Thinking he needed some fresh air, he dressed and made himself as presentable as possible and went out to a local market to buy something healthy to eat. He felt vaguely proud of himself for even thinking of doing this.

But the trip outside was harrowing. He felt every person’s eyes on him, felt them judging him, the way he looked, the way he moved even. He quickly picked out an apple and some milk and bought the items without making eye contact with the cashier. Then he practically ran back to the relative safety of his apartment, and locked the door.

On the eighth day, Bill called. Holden let the phone ring seven times before picking it up, not having any idea who the caller was.

“Hey, Holden. Just wanted to know how you were doing,” Bill said in his normal tone of voice.

Holden nearly burst into tears at the sound of his partner’s voice, the normalcy of it, the weird nostalgia of friendly conversation filling his heart. But he couldn’t think of anything to say for a minute.

Bill seemed confused. “Holden, are you there?”

Holden finally forced himself to answer, “Bill. Yeah, I’m here.”

Bill seemed concerned. “You sound weird. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Bill. Thanks for calling,” Holden said robotically.

“Well, you feel like coming over for dinner? Nancy has been asking about you,” Bill said, some awkwardness leaking into his friendly demeanor.

Holden answered, “You don’t have to do that, Bill. I know you don’t want to see me.”

“Don’t be stupid, kid,” Bill responded, with an edge of irritation coloring his voice. “Why would I ask if I didn’t want you to come over?”

Holden was silent for a while, then said, “I’m busy. But thanks anyway.” Holden could hear the coldness in his own voice and couldn’t understand where it was coming from. He wasn’t angry. But it felt like somebody else was controlling him, like he was a puppet mechanically going through the motions. His own emotions were locked away deep inside, and all that came out was this odd inhuman thing using his voice.

“Okay, suit yourself,” Bill said, clearly annoyed. “I thought you might need some company, but I guess I was wrong.”

Holden answered, “Yeah, I’m okay. Don’t worry.” Then he hung up on Bill.

The next day, Holden couldn’t get out of bed. He’d had four nightmares during the night, most of them about vague shadows filled with hate and violence and a feeling of everybody being disappointed in him, and he was exhausted. But it was more than that. He couldn’t move his body. He felt made of stone.

He glanced at the calendar on his bedroom wall, one he received for free from a local hardware store he visited once. Pictures of cars, all looking the same to him. Then he noticed how many days were left before he’d written “BACK AT WORK” in large letters. But Holden couldn’t get himself to care. He’d either go back to work or not. One result seemed not to matter more than the other.

He fell back asleep until another nightmare work him up. He couldn’t recall any details, just a feeling of dread and hopelessness. So he dragged himself out of bed, and smelling his own sweat, went into the shower, turning it on to the hottest level. It hurt a little, but not enough. Holden dragged a cloth full of soap through his hair and over his body and stepped out, barely drying himself. He dressed in the warmest sweater he owned and a pair of pajama bottoms and went out to the living room to watch TV.

Holden poured himself his usual tumbler full of Jack Daniels and downed it. Poured a second one, drank it. Suddenly he remembered the Xanax. He might need it to go back to sleep, or at least relax, though he still felt exhausted.

Holden dug around in the pocket of his coat hanging on the chair and found the bottle. He mindlessly shook the bottle, listening to the little blue pills rattling around the orange-brown plastic. He wondered for a second if taking the pills after drinking so much was a bad idea. But then he decided the pills were too small to be harmful. He put two pills into his cupped palm and drank them down with the whiskey.

After 20 minutes, Holden started feeling good. He couldn’t remember if he’d taken any pills, so he took three with more alcohol. Soon he was laughing at a sitcom on TV. It was a good episode of “Barney Miller.” He didn’t remember ever laughing so much at the show before.

Soon, the news was on and he noticed he’d finished the bottle of Jack. Holden shook the pill bottle and heard nothing. The bottle was empty. Had he taken all the pills? He couldn’t remember. But it also didn’t seem to matter so much now. He felt good for the first time in months. So he lay down on his couch and, with a smile on his face, closed his eyes.

Bill spent the night before fighting with his anger. The conversation with Holden brought back all the bad feelings he’d had over the past months. The man was infuriating! Bill had been worried about the young agent and just wanted to help.

But by the next day, he began to worry about Holden. Something in his partner’s voice was terribly wrong. He called Wendy and described the wooden way Holden was speaking and his lack of emotions. Wendy thought Holden was disassociating, and she was concerned enough to ratchet up Bill’s worry.

That evening he called Holden again, but got no answer. He kept calling every half an hour, but still no answer. Of course, the kid could be out. Maybe he even got back together with Debbie. But then Bill would remember the way Holden sounded, like he just didn’t care about anything, and he’d try to call again.

By 9:00 pm, Bill decided enough was enough and he picked up his car keys, let Nancy know what he was going to do, and headed out to Holden’s apartment.

The security system had an intercom, and Bill explained to the apartment manager that he was with the FBI and that he had some concerns about the well-being of a tenant. He felt guilty using his badge in this way, but his worry was sky-high by then. The manager was clearly intimidated by Bill’s badge and met him at the front door and led him down a depressingly drab hallway to Holden’s apartment on the third floor.

When knocking loudly and repeatedly didn’t work, the manager unlocked the door for Bill.

As soon as Bill entered Holden’s apartment, he knew something was wrong. The entire place was unkempt, even messy, which seemed uncharacteristic for Holden. The smell of alcohol hit him when he entered the living room. It was a small enough place that Bill saw Holden on the couch right away. At first he was relieved to find the man sleeping, but then noticed how still he was.

“Hey, Holden! Wake up!” Bill yelled.

Holden didn’t answer, so Bill reached over and shook him by the shoulders, hard. The only response he received was a quiet groan. Then Bill saw the bottle of pills in Holden’s right hand and the empty bottle of Jack Daniels on the coffee table.

“I need you to call an ambulance, sir,” Bill told the nervous manager. “There’s been an accident.”

The man went looking for Holden’s phone and found it in the kitchen. Meanwhile, Bill tried to sit Holden up. He kept up a steady stream of encouragement in hopes it would wake Holden.

“Hey, kid, it’s Bill. You’re gonna be okay. Can you hear me? We’re getting you to the hospital. They’ll be able to take care of you there. I think you may have taken too many pills here. But you’re gonna be all right. I’ll make sure of it.”

Bill felt panic like he hadn’t in a long time. And guilt that he hadn’t realized how poorly Holden was doing. After all, the kid had just had a nervous breakdown. Then Bill practically left him alone after that. What was he thinking?

The ride in the ambulance seemed to take forever. Thankfully the paramedic assured Bill that they had gotten to Holden in time, that he would most likely be okay. Bill couldn’t bear to think what would have happened if he hadn’t shaken off his anger at Holden to come check on him.

After a short wait at the hospital emergency room, a doctor came out and reassured Bill that Holden would be okay. They were concerned that it might have been a suicide attempt, however, and Bill felt shaken by the idea, but, concerned about Holden’s job security, assured the doctor that Holden was not suicidal and that it was most definitely accidental, as he’d never taken the medication before and didn’t know how it would interact with alcohol.

Bill managed to sound convincing about his theory, but inside he wasn’t sure what Holden had been thinking. Bill felt sick at the mere idea that Holden was so depressed that he had tried to take his own life. Then he pushed the idea out of his head, not willing to even consider the possibility.

Holden was moved into a room, and Bill patiently waited for him to wake up. He called Nancy and informed her of the basic details. But otherwise Bill didn’t know who else to call. He considered Debbie, but in the end didn’t feel confident about laying this at her feet. And Wendy, well, he wasn’t sure whether Wendy would jump to any wrong conclusions, so decided to put off telling her anything until the next day.

Holden soon woke up, but was clearly feeling poorly. Bill felt he had to clear up Holden’s intentions though as soon as possible, so he gave Holden some water and helped him sit up somewhat.

“Holden, do you know what happened to you,” Bill asked, gently.

Holden stared down at his clasped hands as he answered, “I don’t remember much, but I think I took too many pills.”

“Yeah, and washed those pills down with a lot of liquor,” Bill said. “Holden, I need to know, were you trying to kill yourself?”

Holden’s bleary eyes widened dramatically and he nearly shouted, “No, Bill! I would never do that. Did you tell the doctors that’s what happened?”

“Calm down, kid. I told them it was an accident. But you can imagine how this looks,” Bill said.

“Yes, I can imagine. But I swear I didn’t do this on purpose. I just lost track of how many pills I took,” Holden said, looking chastened.

Bill sighed. “Holden, you know you could have called me if you were doing badly, right?”

“I guess,” Holden said. “I’ve been feeling… really…” Then he trailed off, unable to find the right words to explain himself.

“What?” Bill asked quietly. “What were you feeling?”

Holden’s eyes filled with tears. “Alone. Guilty. I couldn’t get myself to eat. I barely could sleep because of nightmares. I didn’t want to tell anybody. I felt like there was no one I could tell.”

“Holden, for fuck’s sake, you’re not alone. You made people angry with your behavior over the last month, but I still care, Wendy cares. I’m sure Debbie would be there if you asked her to,” Bill insisted.

“I don’t know,” Holden said quietly, and Bill saw how heartsick the kid was.

“Holden, you need some help. Professional help. But also help from the people around you. But you gotta be open to it. Don’t just assume we wouldn’t be willing to help you,” Bill said as gently as he could.

Holden bent his head and began sobbing. He covered his face with his hands in horror.

Bill didn’t know what to do. All his instincts told him to run, that he couldn’t handle this. But instead he went with his heart and reached out to loosely hug Holden.

“Hey, just let it out. There’s nothing wrong with crying. You’re gonna be okay, Holden. I promise.” Bill didn’t know if any of his words were true, but he figured the calm tone alone might make Holden feel better. And he hugged the young man a little tighter.

After a while, Holden’s sobbing turned into the occasional sniffle. He was clearly completely worn out, so Bill wordlessly helped him lie back again.

“Holden, go to sleep. You need to get some rest. They’re gonna let you go home tomorrow,” Bill said.

Holden looked haunted, so Bill added, “And you won’t be alone. If you want, you can even stay with Nancy and Brian and me for a bit.”

With drowsy eyes, Holden responded, “I can’t do that to you.”

Bill replied, “You’re not isolating yourself again, Holden. You think nobody cares, but that’s not true. And I’m going to prove it to you, whether you like it or not.”

Then Bill smiled and added, “And whatever you think, everything’s going to be okay.”

Holden looked as if he didn’t quite believe it, but he smiled slightly back and said, “Thanks, Bill. Will you be here when I wake up?”

Bill simply nodded and asked, “Where else would I be?”

Holden felt actual physical warmth enter his body for the first time in many months. Could Bill actually mean that? He didn’t want to put too much thought to that question.

The hospital released Holden the next day, as planned. Wendy visited just before Holden went home and gave the young man the business card of a psychiatrist and a rather stern warning to make sure he called and made an appointment as soon as possible. Holden was visibly nervous about how this latest hospitalization would affect his career, but Wendy, in an unusual display of sympathy, reassured Holden that it would not be reported by them as anything other than an accidental overdose.

Bill drove Holden by his apartment to pack some clothes and books and insisted on taking him to the Tench home for at least a week. Nancy greeted Holden warmly at the door, and Brian looked shyly at him. Bill felt like he was doing something… good, right, and that made him feel happy somehow.

Dinner was an awkward affair at first, with Nancy gently nudging Holden to eat more, Brian his usual silent self, and Holden using his coping mechanism of keeping an emotional distance from everyone. Bill could see Holden becoming frustrated with himself.

After the meal was over, Bill settled in his favorite chair with a glass of scotch, but handed Holden a ginger ale. Holden gave him a disgruntled but amused glance as he accepted the soft drink.

Holden gazed out Bill’s front window and said, “I just don’t feel like myself. I feel like my real self is trapped inside some kind of shell. I don’t like this.”

“Well, we can deal with this `shell’ of yours just fine. We know you’re not feeling well. It will all get better in time,” Bill said, trying to comfort Holden.

Bill felt more than uncomfortable with this conversation. “Let’s see what’s on TV,” he said rather suddenly.

Bill switched on the console to a police drama, and sat back in his chair. Holden assumed that was the end of the conversation, and he felt slightly hurt but also amused by Bill’s inability to go deeper. He pretended to watch the TV show, but thought about his partner and how much he was doing for him. He felt his eyes water embarrassingly, touched by Bill making sure Holden didn’t drink himself into oblivion, didn’t feel alone. But he wondered how he would get to sleep.

“Bill?” Holden said.

“Yeah?” Bill replied without looking away from the TV.

“Thanks.”

“For what?”

Holden smiled and answered, “For the ginger ale.”

**Author's Note:**

> Depression and anxiety are very real and serious issues. I've been dealing with both my entire life. If you are experiencing this, please seek professional help. And also accept help from people around you who care. It's the only way out of the darkness.


End file.
